


Drifting through the halls with the sunrise

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 12 dancing princesses, F/M, Jon x Sansa Remix, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: They were selfish girls, it was their choice that sentenced these men to death, month after month. The cycle would continue, soon the girls behind her would forget about the man on the stone steps, they would don their masks and new shoes and dance until the sun rose over the Narrow Sea.





	Drifting through the halls with the sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 Jon x Sansa remix, please suspend your disbelief about pretty much everything :)  
> Title is from Delilah by Florence + the Machine

For as long as she could remember Sansa had been a hostage to the crown. The walls of the Red Keep were more familiar to her than Winterfell’s, she was hardly off the breast before the guards took her away. If she tried hard enough she could feel the bite of the winter winds on her face, hear the soft song in her mother’s voice, or the deep rumble of her father’s. 

It wasn’t until the death of the Mad King that things started to change around the kingdom. Viserys was crowned before she turned ten-years-old, he married his sister Daenerys not long after, and Sansa remembered dressing her silver hair for the event. There was fear in her eyes when they met Sansa’s in the looking glass, but she never once cried. Things only got worse from there.

A hush fell over the bustling room, uncommon after a man was burned alive before them. Trial by fire, the king called it, Sansa stretched to see what caused such a fuss. “The king looks furious, whatever it is,” Myranda murmured to her. The stench of burnt flesh still hung heavy in the air, Sansa wasn’t sure if it was only temporary, or if was etched into the floors and walls, perhaps it lingered on her. It would be a suitable mark of her own role in the deaths that started recently.

“You’ve finally come to stake your claim?” The king called from the throne, eyeing the man before him with the same disdain he held for the village folk. “My brother would be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“Then you wouldn’t be the king, your grace,” Sansa tensed, body moving on its own accord to better see who stood before the iron throne. He looked like the face from her dreams, dark hair, and a long face. She had to hold her breath to hold back the sob that threatened to burst from her mouth. Beside her Lord Baelish paled, as he stood stock still. Perhaps he thought he was seeing a ghost as well.

“The seven kingdoms would never thrive under the rule of a bastard.” The king spat, “I could have you killed where you stand for the suggestion.”

“I’m not here to stake my claim,” the man paused, “I’m here to accept this challenge,” he raised a gloved fist, the proclamation. Sansa’s heart dropped at that. He was here to find out where they went, the king offered the man who solved the mystery the bride of his choice and a keep wherever he wished. Jon Snow wasn’t here to rescue her, but she had to warn him. He would be better off going back North, or wherever her family was sent after her father was burned alive. 

Court was dismissed, and the king filed out ahead of his silver haired queen. She met Sansa’s eyes, “we’re going again tonight,” the Queen said softly as she passed, Sansa nodded. Margaery grinned when Sansa turned to signal her. 

It was Sansa’s job to slip the sweet sleep to Lord Baelish on the nights they went dancing, once the King started to hire spies Sansa’s role grew more important. She was the one sentencing the spy to death, he would never stand a chance. She knew it was the reason she couldn’t look away when the King burned the spies alive when they failed. She couldn’t bear the same fate to befall Jon. 

The pitcher trembled in her hands, she hoped no one noticed. She knew Jon’s eyes were on her the moment she entered; he watched her move across the room, she focused on the whites of his knuckles when Lord Baelish’s hand lingered a moment too long at her waist. Sansa avoided Jon’s gaze when she made to pour the spiked wine into the first goblet.

She moved around the table, watching as Lord Baelish began to speak to the guard assigned to her. She kept her eyes down as she filled Jon’s cup, he wouldn’t succeed, just like the rest. If he did, the gods only knew what would happen, what the king would do to them. She saw the way he treated his queen, what were disobedient hostages to a furious king? Jon’s hand caught her as the wine stopped flowing.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, I can protect you.” Jon’s hand held her wrist, just firm enough to keep her in place. His eyes were so earnest in that moment, he truly believed his own words.

“No one can protect me.” Sansa sighed, eyes flicking back to Lord Baelish, “no one can protect anyone.”

They dressed in their fine gowns when Sansa returned. They took turns weaving one another hair into the latest style. A new pair of shoes was set out for each of them, the source of all their problems. If they hadn’t worn the soles bare from dancing every fortnight they might have been able to go dancing more often before getting caught. Sansa wouldn’t voice her concerns on the matter, some of the girls had known better lives before Viserys was crowned. Shireen was nearly brought to the palace accompanied by a wet-nurse. It was the same paranoia that killed Sansa’s father.

Arianne lifted the grate, and one-by-one they slipped into the tunnel, footsteps echoing through the halls. Shireen always held Sansa’s hand as they walked, Randa held the torch, always eager to lead the way with Arianne. These were the only nights they had to come alive, Sansa wondered what would happen if they were ever found out.

“My brother has been speaking with Lord Baelish,” Daenerys said, walking in time with Sansa and Shireen. “I think he’ll be convinced to marry the two of you soon.”

Before Sansa could reply Shireen yelped, “Something tripped me!”

“There’s no one behind you,” Margaery said teasingly, “perhaps you’re just clumsy.”

“Perhaps,” Shireen answered, turning to inspect the dark, empty corridor behind them. Even as they approached end of the tunnel, pausing to secure their masks, Shireen seemed wary of the mishap. When they crossed the threshold into the wide hall the youngest girl was swept away by the music, and soon they were all moving along to the percussion and strings. 

Sansa could chat freely with her partners as they switched from one to another, either by the song or the reel. They didn’t know her, they couldn’t imagine hidden meaning in her words, turn them against her, or anyone she loved. Gods, maybe someday she would be this free as herself. 

From one man, she switched to the next, as the dance called for, and found herself face to face with a stranger. Dark of hair, and a mask styled with crow feathers, the man took her hand in his and started to lead her in an unpracticed dance. Something about his eyes struck her as familiar, though she couldn’t name where.

“I’ve never noticed you here,” Sansa said softly, studying the man.

“You wouldn’t have, it’s my first time.” He cringed as he stepped on her foot, “I’m surprised my terrible dancing wasn’t your first clue.” 

“I’ve danced with worse,” she teased. 

“There’s not much dancing on the Wall,” he offered as an excuse.

“As far as I can tell sword fighting is closer to dancing than you would expect.” They separated, palms still touching, as they rotated positions. “You have to consider your partner, and their movements. If anything it’s more predictable than fighting,”

“I wish my instructor had been half as clever as you,”

“I can teach you tonight,” she suggested, hoping that if she tried hard enough she would be able to place him. “Unless you’re intent on dancing with one of my companions.”

“Your feet may regret the offer,” he looked around the room, “and I’m sure there are plenty of men hoping to fill your dance card this evening.”

“They can do without me this one night,”

The night passed quickly, and he was right, her toes had been stepped on more in the hours they danced for one night than ever before. The man apologized earnestly, and watched his feet for a count before looking back to her, asking her about Kings Landing, answering her own questions about his experiences on the wall. Sansa wondered if he was only familiar to her from her dreams, and was startled to realize she knew exactly who he was, and not from her dreams.

“How did you get here,” her smile fell, and his dancing ceased immediately catching her tone.

“It’s a long story, would you give me the chance to tell it?” He looked over her shoulder, “it may have to wait until tomorrow, will you save me a dance?” She turned and saw Roslin bickering with Margaery, gesturing toward her. It was time to go.

“You won’t tell?”

“Not tomorrow.” That would have to be good enough, for now.

Arianne carried Shireen on her back as they made their way through the tunnels toward the keep. Randa took Sansa’s arm, and turned her head close, “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to share so many dances with one man.”

“He was good company,” Sansa answered quickly. She couldn’t let on that she spent most of the night dancing with Jon.

“He stomped all over your feet every time he looked at you.” Margaery teased, “perhaps he’ll challenge Lord Baelish for your hand,”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be such a scandal!” Randa cried, clasping her hands together, “and so romantic!” It would be their new show, one they put on before bed, with scripts and costumes. It would be so sweet to believe such a thing would happen, but Sansa stopped praying for a hero when her father burned. Nobody could save her, not truly.

The second night she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, and volunteered to curl Myrcella’s thick blonde hair, as well as shape Shireen’s hair into the latest fashion. Occupying her hands couldn’t keep her mind from jumping from one thought to the next. Would Jon be there? Would it be better if he weren’t? He gave no indication of his intentions when she served him and Lord Baelish their wine that evening. What would happen come the third day? Would she be killed, set ablaze like the men she doused with a sleeping potion?

He danced with her the whole of the night again, this time a little less clumsy on his feet. Sometimes if their conversation became too involved, like when they spoke of her family in the Riverlands, he would lose count and she would have to lead him back into the dance. 

“I mean to ask for Winterfell,” Jon said. “To give it back to the Starks.” 

“He’ll never honor his word if you tell him.” Sansa said softly, “he’ll kill you and we’ll all be punished in the process.” She looked at him, “it’s a very noble cause, but it’s a fruitless one.”

“I’ll keep you safe I meant what I said.”

“You can’t keep me safe forever, and you can’t protect me from everything,” She thought of Dany’s warning the last evening. “The king means to marry me to Lord Baelish, I doubt I’ll even know when. I’ll just wake up one morning and be dressed, and dragged to the sept.” She felt his hand squeeze her waist, “even if the king doesn’t arrange it, he’s grown very comfortable around me.”

“Sansa,” Jon breathed, eyes softening as they met hers.

“It’s why the girls picked me to serve the wine,” she offered. “They knew he wouldn’t suspect, I could slip the sleeping potion in his wine and he would be none the wiser.”

“Smart,” Jon agreed.

“Once the men started to die I should have stopped,” Sansa’s breath caught, “if you drank the wine you wouldn’t be here, you would die and it would be my fault.” She sighed sadly, “what will we do?”

“I’ll figure something out, I promise.” He took her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead tenderly. “You’re being summoned.” Jon tipped his head toward the girls. “I’ll be here tomorrow, one more night.”

“One more night,” she echoed.

The third night Sansa arrived to serve the wine. The room was quiet, Jon was watching Lord Baelish with disdain, watching the way he touched Sansa darkly, narrowing his eyes when the man started to speak. In the soft light Jon looked so like a man of the North, or at least what she imagined they looked like. She wondered if Lord Baelish saw it too. Arianne had told Sansa a story about Lord Baelish challenging her uncle Brandon for her mother’s hand, her uncle nearly killed him, would have if it hadn’t been for her mother. Did he think Jon was here to finish their uncle’s work?

Jon’s hand brushed against her wrist before she left the room, and she felt herself eagerly counting the minutes until they would meet again. How silly, she thought, this will never end as I dream. Still she could not chase the thoughts away, and couldn’t admit that she wanted to.

“I’ll be leaving before you tonight,” Jon told her, taking her to the floor before she could be swept away by another. “I need to collect some proof.”

“Have you figured something out?”

“Yes,” he said, sure of himself. His movements were more confident on the third night, he hardly stepped over her feet at all.

“You never told me how you followed us.” 

“When I left the Wall I had every intention to go to your family in Riverrun,” Jon began, “Robb and I had been writing, and thought we could come up with a way to take back Winterfell.” They separated, touching palms, turning around each other. “I was crossing through Moat Callin when I was stopped at an inn by a witch,” he paused for a moment, gauging her reaction. “She told me to go east to the crown lands. Gave me this mask, and a cloak that made me disappear,” he hesitated. “She also told me not to drink the wine,”

“Wise of her, it’s a death sentence.” Sansa answered solemnly. 

“It’ll all be ok Sansa,” not long after he kissed her hand, and he disappeared into the crowd.

Court gathered the next morning, and though she was tired from the last evening, she was filled with an energy that could only come from knowing freedom might be near. The king called Jon forward, and Sansa’s nervous energy only grew. 

Sansa felt Lord Baelish’s hand tense over hers, as Jon set a collection of items at the rise of the dias. A jar that nearly glowed with green liquid, a scrap of red and spun gold, and a diamond encrusted decanter, he collected those things on his way back the previous night. There was only one place in Kings Landing that would have such lush decor, and Lord Baelish’s grasp on her hand was enough indication that he knew as well. Good.

“I understand this gives me my choice of keep and bride?” Jon looked to the king who gestured to proceed. “I’ll take Winterfell,” and Sansa knew he would. He wanted to return it to her family, to see her brother seated as Warden in the North, as her father was. “And a northern keep deserves a northern lady.” He turned, facing the balcony where she stood, “Lady Sansa?”

Around her the girls tittered with excitement, Sansa felt everyone’s eyes on her and felt her own face redden. But Lord Baelish’s grip over her hand was tight, and she was trapped where she stood, though she tried to move. 

“Lady Sansa is a hostage to the crown,” Viserys began, “for crimes committed against the crown.”

“Crimes that her family has suffered for, that all families have suffered for. What loyalty do you hope to keep when you burn their leige lords alive for crimes as well as take their daughters?” Jon asked. “It’s a fragile system, bound to break eventually, once everyone realizes you could take them to task for their actions years later as you did to Ned Stark.”

The king’s mouth twisted menacingly, “I forget how much of a Stark you are.” He nodded at one of his guards. “I’ll agree to your terms, if you pass my test.” Sansa gasped as the guard approached with a torch. “If you’re a true Targaryen you’ll survive this trial by fire, I’ll set my hostages free, I’ll give you everything you ask.”

Jon fell to his knees once the fire caught, Sansa choked back a horrified gasp as the fire spread. Of course the king wouldn’t be true to his word, not like Jon. He really would have saved them all if he could. 

Sansa watched as the fire blazed, Myranda gasped, hiding her face against Sansa’s shoulder. Similar sounds echoed across the balcony, shock, horror, but Sansa couldn’t look away. They were selfish girls, it was their choice that sentenced these men to death, month after month. The cycle would continue, soon the girls behind her would forget about the man on the stone steps, they would don their masks and new shoes and dance until the sun rose over the Narrow Sea. 

The fire died down, Daenerys moved toward the flames, and Viserys stopped her with a slap that knocked her down, the sound echoing across the silent hall. She was only down for a moment, long enough that the king’s attention turned back to the dying fire. When she rose, lip bloodied, and rage bright in her eyes, she took the nearest torch, and before anyone could stop her set fire to the king.

“You’ve never undergone trial by fire, my king.” He fell against the throne, the ugly thing melting with him. He begged for Daenerys’ mercy, but she turned her head away from him, looking back toward the balcony. Sansa freed herself from Lord Baelish’s grasp, and darted down to where Jon’s body lay, unscathed. 

She shook his shoulder, running her thumb across his hairline anxiously. When he started to stir she started to sob with relief. “You’re all right!” 

“Aye, I’m all right,” he pushed himself up. “I told you I had a plan.”

“That was your plan?” He nodded, “fool,” she gave him a shove, “I could have told you that wouldn’t work.”

“I didn’t expect it to work as it did, but it worked nonetheless.” He looked to Daenerys, “thank you Your Grace.” Daenerys recoiled for a moment, before relaxing and smiling.

“I think that sounds quite nice, don’t you?” Daenerys asked, “And my first ruling as queen would be to return the king’s hostages to their families.” She looked at Jon next, “my second would be to abolish trial by fire, unless you have any objections nephew?”

“You’ll hear none from me.” Jon nodded. Then he turned to Sansa, “may I take you home my lady?” Jon asked

“Absolutely,” Sansa agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! If you feel like seeing me whine about writing, or anything like that I'm on [tumblr](https://www.sansapotter.tumblr.com)


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